


More Than I Can Take

by Vaecordia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Explicit Language, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-18 20:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10624857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaecordia/pseuds/Vaecordia
Summary: "You are far more than I can take."They might never say it out loud, but it's an unstated truth that hangs between them.





	

"You have three new messages. Today, 02:23 a.m."

_"Hey, uhm - (what? no, I'm fine I don't - don' need yer help…) - hey, could you maybe c'm'ere? Kinda stranded, ha… - oh (where am I? what?) - I'm at… (where?) -"_

Another voice, higher, gentler - a woman, probably. _"Whoever you are, hi, your friend is here, at Harvey's. If you get this message, come and pick him up. He's too drunk to know up from down, and if you're not here within the hour I'll check him into the hotel down the street. 'S called the Seaside Inn. He insisted on calling you, so if you get this message jus' - get him. (Did he answer? Is he there?) Do whatever."_

Click.

 

"Today, 02:31 a.m."

_"Listen, buddy, I don't know if you're getting these messages but I would prefer it if you came earlier rather than later. If this continues, I won't be able to handle him. He's talking about - I don't know, but he's worrying me. And he's literally begging for you. If you're not here in less than half an hour, I'm taking him to the hotel."_

Click.

 

"Today, 02:35 a.m."

_"Ivan! (No, lemme be, jus' - give the - give!) Ivan… I need - (fuck) Ivan I'll jus' - I'm gonna - yeah… (no - wait)_

_Is your name Ivan? I'm taking him in ten minutes. You know where he'll be."_

Click.

 

A pause, a sigh. A soft curse.

 

Ringing.

_"Hello? (Is it him? Is - is he on the phone?)"_

"This is Ivan. I'm coming to get him. You said you were in Harvey's?"

_"Oh. (It is, give me-) Yeah, yeah we are. How far away are you?"_

"Not too far - five minutes, give or take."

_"Oh, okay, good. Hey thanks, and if we woke you up, sorry. But you're the only one he would call."_

"It's nothing. I was up already anyway. Thank you for watching over him. I'm leaving now."

_"Okay, right, I'll keep an eye on him. Thanks again. (What did-)"_

Click.

 

He slips into his coat and shoes, and he closes the door softly behind him.

He tries not to think about the calls, about the words - half-sentences, pieces of phrases he needed to hear finished - Alfred so desperately and incoherently poured into the messages. He sees only the flashing and blinking streetlamps, feels only the hum of the rental car. He finds the bar, and parks carelessly in front of it. He pauses for a moment to look at the place, barely taking it in, before walking to the door. He's assaulted by the enticing scent of cigarettes and the tang of alcohol, the music playing too loud to be background noise. People crowding the place are either talking too loudly, playing darts, or making pathetic attempts at dancing on whatever free space there is. Ivan looks around the place, spotting a man, turned back to him, with a mop of blond hair that has been run through with a hand too many times. The suit jacket Ivan recognises from earlier is discarded, rumpled over the back of the tall chair, his shirt creased from having been worn too long. Ivan makes his way there, and he is spotted by one of the people talking to Alfred.

She looks up, and when he is close she calls out: "Are you Ivan?"

Ivan sees the way Alfred's head jerks up, before his shoulders shake lightly. Ivan doesn't know whether the American is crying or laughing.

"Yes, I am. I'll take him home now, thank you for helping him," Ivan says tensely, and sees the way Alfred turns to slide out of his seat. Once his legs hit the floor, he stumbles but catches himself with a hand on a chair and another person helping him back upright. He looks long at the jacket on the chair before lazily picking it up. He finally looks at Ivan, bloodshot blue eyes gleaming hazily. His lips break out into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and he begins making his way towards Ivan with certain but wavering steps. When he's in front of the frowning Russian, he throws his head back and shows his cheap, whiskey-scented smile.

"Hey there, sexy" he drawls, his speech slurring - but it seems more sober than it had been over the phone. "Lookin' for some fun?" His voice is suggestive, lips curled into a smile - a disgusting smile Ivan hates, hates beyond compare.

Ivan looks at the people watching Alfred with some worry. "He'll be alright. Thank you again," he finishes curtly, before taking a long look at Alfred and grabbing his arm. He begins walking, briskly but not too fast to let Alfred stumble. The American turns back for a moment and waved at the people, before letting Ivan drag him into his car and laughing heartily.

"I can't believe you came," Alfred admits, his smile fading. His hand is on the car door's handle, uncertain of what to do.

"Well, I did, and I'm taking you home. Think of this as an aversion of a worldwide crisis. What's your address?"

Alfred yanks the car door, hard - Ivan can hear the creak as it barely holds on its hinges. When Alfred speaks, he's leaning on the car's frame with hooded eyes. "Take me to _your_ place, sweetheart." His accent is slipping, almost Southern, and Ivan gives up. Alfred can take the couch. Maybe even the bathtub, if Ivan gets too irritated with the American on the way. Alfred sighs, before dropping into the passenger seat. He giggles. "Imagine the horror if I were to vanish. Jus' - _poof_ , no more Alfred, no more America…" Ivan can see his thoughts are muddled, but he also knows that Alfred is much better at handling his liquor than he's given credit for. He looks like he's barely nearing twenty, but the boyish charm and a probably fake ID go a long way for him. He's had a hundred years of practice, and Ivan knows he'd have a worthy opponent in a case of drinking the other under the table. Alfred just generally likes to act.

"Why aren't you sayin' 'nything? I was countin' on ya, Eye-vahn," Alfred says, a whine edging into his voice.

"Alfred, you aren't even drunk," Ivan says as he rolls his eyes, Alfred's overplaying becoming annoying. "Counting on me to do what?"

Alfred shrugs. "Don't know."

There's a pause, and Ivan thinks about flooring the pedal to get there as fast as possible, to leave Alfred as little time as possible to do or say something stupid. Ivan knows he's going to, he's bound to, but he doesn't know when. Two seconds, two hours, two years. It's always too little or too long.

"Can't believe you came," Alfred repeats, a frown on his face. "I thought…" He falls silent, gathering his words before he's about to hurl them at Ivan. "Thought you would've still held a grudge," he says, his words clearer than they had been a moment ago.

"I don't know what you are speaking about," Ivan says stiffly, hoping Alfred would fall asleep before they get to the hotel. But it's obvious that Alfred isn't as drunk as he made himself out to be - to say Alfred was complicated was an understatement.

"I fucked you over pretty good," Alfred mutters, his voice almost blending into the hum of the car. Almost. It's never enough.

Before Ivan can help himself, he's gripping the steering wheel tighter, his words strained. "You have a tendency to do that."

Alfred laughs - it's loud, it's obnoxious, it's too cheerful and it's a lie. "Guess you're right. I've managed to fuck everyone over, even the one person that only ever really mattered. It's my greatest talent, my greatest gift, my greatest curse." Ivan doesn't answer, because all he's doing is trying to survive the car ride without insult or injury. "But you still… you came to help me. Even after everything, you came when I needed you. Why'd you do that? I remember everything I said, and none of it was justified. I said it on purpose. I lied to you. Why'd you come?"

Ivan wants to answer, wants to say he didn't know - but he does know, he knows that he is still impossibly devoted to the stupid youth sitting next to him. So he stays silent, and Alfred continues.

"Do you know why I did that? Why I - why I hurt you?" There's a pause, and Ivan knows if he applies any more pressure the steering wheel will bend, deform. "You don't, because I never told you. I never gave you any explanation, I jus' left you on your own with your broken heart." He runs a hand through his hair again, and it sticks out in the oddest directions before falling haphazardly back down. "You don't even know that I left you with my broken heart, too. You don't know that it jus' about killed me to - to say - say those hateful, horrible things I said. It doesn't justify it, it doesn't excuse it. I don't have any. I can't even say I thought I was helping or protecting you, because I know that's a lie. You can help and protect yourself. I was protecting myself. I knew that if I get too attached I would have hell to pay if anything happened to me. I knew my government didn't like me having a relationship with anyone. They know that it might fuck up the nation. I was thinking of myself, and of the goddamn heart I ended up giving you anyway."

Ivan parks the car, violently opens the car door and slams it shut. Alfred laughs with tears in his eyes, and when his own door opens he's met with a cold, 'get out'. He obeys, stumbling slightly as he steps out the car. Ivan locks the rental and breezes past Alfred into the hotel. Alfred follows slowly, taking in the hotel. When he enters the lobby, Ivan is already tapping his foot at the elevators, and Alfred strolls to him.

"I never said the explanation was pretty," Alfred says, his voice soft but not apologetic.

"I never said I wanted it," Ivan snarls, and when the elevator doors open he steps in, Alfred in tow. Alfred leans against the wall, letting his head drop back as he stares at the ceiling. Soft, irritatingly upbeat music is pouring in through it, and Ivan shifts.

"You deserved something of an explanation."

Ivan doesn't even look at him. "I could easily have lived without one."

"Well," Alfred says, "now you have to live with one."

Ivan looks at Alfred with a frown on his face - as if he has so much he wants to tell the other nation, while simultaneously giving him a good punch in the jaw. Alfred wouldn't flinch, because he knew that in all honesty, he deserved it.

"I know that saying I'm sorry isn't gonna do anything," Alfred continues, "but… but I am." The elevator stops on their floor, and Ivan exits first. Alfred follows, but trips over his feet. He never meets the floor, because Ivan catches him.

He always does, and Alfred understands why.

They reach Ivan's door, and Alfred's standing falters on occasion. When they enter, the silence is overwhelming.

"You can sleep on the couch."

Alfred snorts. "I can, but we both know I'm not gonna," he says, his voice too knowing, too confident. Ivan hates it, like he hates everything else about Alfred. Hates, because he won't admit the alternative.

"There's pillows in the closet," Ivan states, his voice deadpan and as unwavering as he can muster. He knows where this is going, as does Alfred, but he can still try.

"Okay. Okay, I'll get the pillows," Alfred says, throwing his suit jacket onto the armrest of the cheap hotel couch, before trying to locate the closet. It takes his hazed mind some time, but he finds it, and carries back a white pillow. "There any sheets I can use?"

Ivan looks confused for a moment, before cursing in Russian. He realises that the only duvet in the room is in his bed - although it's a double bed and there's two, he knows that Alfred now has the perfect reason to settle into the bed.

"It's fine," Alfred says, waving his hand about dismissively. "Is there two in there? I'll grab one of them," he says, before going to the bedroom and returning with one of the two duvets, nearly stumbling on it. "Ivan, I'm not a completely insensitive asshole. I know I could have fooled you, everyone else, too," he says with a halfhearted chuckle. "But I'm not - and I know I deserve it. I don't deserve you coming to get me when I get too drunk to really be able to tell a cab where the hell I'm going, I don't deserve you giving me a place to sleep. I'm not… I know I'm not the best person there is, but I have some manners," he says, his eyes downcast. "I'll just… I'll be out before you wake up. We have an early meeting tomorrow." It's accompanied by an annoyed sigh and he turns to look at Ivan, who's been staring out the window most of their conversation. He now looks torn between going to bed and… something else.

"Thanks," Alfred says quietly. "And I'm sorry. Good night."

Alfred swears he hears something that sounds like 'you will be the death of me', but he doesn't say anything. He isn't sure. He doesn't want to be sure. He takes off and discards his shoes, but then his arm is grabbed and he's whirled around to look at Ivan's angered eyes - and he's barely holding a sigh of relief.

"I cannot say I forgive you for what you did."

"I know," Alfred interrupts, but Ivan isn't fazed. He resists the want - the need to grab onto Ivan's arm, pull him closer.

"And this means nothing," Ivan continues, and they both know where this is going. Alfred nods. "But God, you are more than I can take, Alfred," Ivan says, his voice threatening and desperate all at the same time - Alfred says nothing, because he knows he might say something stupid; he knows he might destroy the meaning of the words that claimed no meaning. And then, Ivan is kissing Alfred, deeply, like it's a drug he's needed for too long - and in a way, it is. It's as if Alfred melts, trying to draw himself as close to Ivan as he can get, and Ivan's dragging him away from the couch and towards the bedroom. And in the morning, they'll both regret it (but not really, they never do), and they'll both know that Ivan's words were useless, because it does mean something - it always does. Neither can stand seeing the other walk away.

Ivan will be damned if he lets Alfred go. Alfred knows he can't leave another time.

And they're both secretly, deeply glad for that - but neither will ever admit it.


End file.
